


(Not) So Hard

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Castiel Has Tentacles, Curses, Grace Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Dysfunction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 22:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: Something is wrong.Granted, in Dean’s life, something is always wrong, but nothing is ever wrong with his dick. Generally, that has always remained a constant in his life, that when the time came, he’d always be prepared. Said time is here, and no matter what he does, no matter how hard he strokes or how many fingers he uses, nothing happens.





	(Not) So Hard

Something is wrong.

Granted, in Dean’s life, something is always wrong, but nothing is ever wrong with his dick. Generally, that has always remained a constant in his life, that when the time came, he’d always be prepared. Said time is here, and no matter what he does, no matter how hard he strokes or how many fingers he uses, nothing happens.

Prolonged jerkoff in the shower? Check. More than enough lube and consistent pressure? That one vibrator he keeps tucked so far back in his sock drawer that sometimes he forgets he even has it? Absolutely nothing.

The most he’s done is left himself sore and frustrated, glaring heatedly at his flaccid cock, lying in the crease of his thigh like it’s supposed to be limp. Dean gives it a few more infuriating minutes before trying again, spreading his legs enough to plant his feet on the bedspread. Idly, he strokes himself with a slicked hand, fully expecting an entirely different outcome than what he gets.

Worst of all, he doesn’t feel anything. Not numbness, per se, but more like he’s petting his thigh, or wrapping his fingers around someone’s wrist. Or fondling a hot dog, a thought he doesn’t want to entertain more than necessary. No pleasure behind it, just awkward fumbling and staring at the ceiling, waiting for the earth to swallow him whole.

Maybe it’s stress, he considers, reaching behind himself with the same hand. Stress would explain the time or two where he couldn’t get it up, but it’s never been this bad, to the point where he can’t even feel it. Two fingers inside, and Dean mercilessly toys with his prostate, something that always got him harder than any skin mag or porno could ever do. Now, it just reminds him of getting an exam, nothing remotely sexy about it.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he exhales, long and low, and finally gives up. His first day of downtime, and he can’t even jerk off  to celebrate. Maybe tomorrow, his nerves will have settled enough to let him get off in peace. They just got home five hours ago—it could be waning adrenaline, or maybe tonight just isn’t the night.

What the reason, Dean cleans his fingers off with a washcloth and wipes the toy down, leaving both in the nightstand drawer for now. In the morning, he’ll try again—and hopefully, this will be just another instance of getting older.

 _Old_. Climbing under the covers, Dean switches off the lamp. _I’m not old enough for this crap._

-+-

Something is _still_ wrong.

Standing in the shower, Dean gently tugs on the plug buried in his ass, one foot propped up on the stool in the corner, scalding water beating down on the back of his neck. Fifteen minutes, and he might as well call it off for the rest of the week, with how this morning is going. In his fist, his cock rests, just as soft as it was last night, not even on the verge of hardening. Inwardly, Dean curses himself and pulls the plug free, washing it off under the spray. _So much for that_.

There has to be some explanation for it, some reason that his libido is skyrocketing but his dick isn’t catching on. As far as he can remember, they haven’t run into anything recently that could’ve hexed him, and the most he’s done is clean up the garage and rifle through all of the gloveboxes. No contact with cursed objects, no witches— _What gives_?

“Oh good, you’re here,” Dean grumbles upon entering the kitchen, cinching the belt around his robe tighter. Castiel called it a defense mechanism, always toying with it, trying to hide himself away from wandering eyes. Said eyes are those of his brother sitting at the kitchen table, lost in the blue glow of his laptop screen while he eats Cheerios. Hurriedly, Dean busies himself under the guise of gathering up eggs and bread, before he says, “Got a personal thing to ask you about.”

“How personal’s personal?” Sam asks through a mouthful of cereal. He turns just as Dean unhooks the frying pan from the rack above the island, chair at an angle. “What, like, you got a rash?”

“It’s not a rash,” Dean huffs, spinning on a heel. He can’t face Sam like this—hell, he couldn’t even face a doctor if he wanted to. “Look, you ever just… not been able to… y’know, after a hunt?”

At first, Sam blinks at him, bowl in hand, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Can you be more specific?” he asks, and Dean half thinks he’s just doing this to annoy him.

“Jesus Christ.” Dean turns, egg in hand, and looks directly into the skylight. “Work it out, beat off, do I gotta start naming off—”

“No, I think I got it,” Sam sputters, laughter tinging his ears red. Great, just what he wants, to be laughed at. “And not that I know of? I don’t really—do that after we get home.”

“Thanks.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Really helping the cause here.”

“Wait, you mean seriously?” Setting his breakfast down, Sam stands and walks to the opposite side of the island. “Like, you—”

This was a bad idea—he should’ve talked to Castiel about this, or even the mirror. At least Castiel could diagnose him if it came down to something medical. “Yeah, I tried.” He turns, cheeks burning. “Chalked it up to being thrown into the side of a building at first, but it’s been twelve hours, and no dice. And, you wanna know what’s worse?” Again, he faces Sam, both arms outstretched, now with two eggs. “I took five Viagra last night, and nothing happened, Sam. I should be dead right now.”

“Jesus,” Sam snorts, barely holding back his laughter. Either from amusement or mortification, Dean can’t find it in himself to care. “You sure we don’t need to take you to the hospital?”

“I hope not,” Dean says, exasperated. “Pretty sure I slept it off. Point is, it ain’t working. And trust me, I’ve tried everything. _Everything_.”

Briefly, Sam mulls it over, both hands spread on the top of the island. “Are you sure you haven’t run into anyone?” he asks, like Dean hasn’t gone through every waking second of his life in the last few hours. “What about that woman at the bar—”

Dean shakes his head emphatically. “She was just nice, and she never touched me. Beat my ass in pool, and honestly, that?” He stopped to wink, earning an eyeroll. “Always gets me going. But right now? Nada.”

“Maybe you need to talk to Cas about this,” Sam suggests, more amused than anything. “When is he coming back, anyway?”

If only that was the solution to all his problems, talking to Castiel. Castiel, who can’t be bothered to stay in one place for more than an hour, and who wouldn’t know what to do with Dean’s dick if he even tried. Or, that’s what Dean suspects; for all he knows, Castiel could be picking up random people in bars or engaging in amateur porn across the country, and no one would ever know. And certainly Dean would, after all the porn he browsed through last night.

“Shit if I know,” Dean mumbles. His back to the island, he concentrates on turning on one of the burners and cracking eggs into the pan, all while ignoring the face Sam has to be giving him. “Knowing him, he’ll show up after we’re gone.”

“You know he doesn’t do it on purpose,” Sam says from the table. Concern drips from his voice, and Dean hates how much of it is the truth. “You know if it came down to it, he’d just stay here, with us.”

Dean just shrugs, reaches for the spatula. “Saying and doing are two different things.” He shakes his head. “You want in on any of this?”

Sam takes a minute to reply, all while Dean rummages in the refrigerator for the shredded cheese. “Actually, yeah, if you’ve got any bacon left.”

“I can work with that,” Dean laughs, his humor betraying the hurt. Castiel hadn’t answered his texts all day yesterday—maybe he isn’t coming back after all.

-+-

Sometime after midnight, Castiel returns, moving through the bunker almost as silently as when he left. Dean catches him just before he makes it past his room, door slinging open and an arm reaching out to yank him inside, without so much as a protest. As much as Dean wants to hug him, or pat his shoulder—the former being the most likely option, these days—Castiel reeks. What Dean hopes is mud flecks his face, and dark brown stains his coat from collar to tail. Dirt cakes his hair, smelling overtly of swamp water and decay.

“Dude,” Dean says, nose wrinkled. “You go diving in a creek?”

“A marsh, actually,” Castiel says, raking through his hair with his free hand. The other, Dean still clings to, fingers to the bare skin beneath Castiel’s cuff. His wrist is cold, chilled from the water. “I tried to come home sooner, but something… called to me. A spirit trapped along the riverbank in Arkansas.”

“You’ve been hunting?” Dean asks, to which Castiel shakes his head.

“I was asked to investigate the whereabouts of a previously unknown angel,” Castiel sighs. “Whether or not they ever existed, I don’t know. Their house was empty by the time I arrived.”

Shoulders slumping, Dean squeezes Castiel’s wrist just a bit tighter. “Sorry you had to drive all that way,” he says in consolation. “But swamp diving?”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Castiel laughs, the mud creasing his eye flaking off. He really needs a shower—incidentally, so does Dean. “I was trying to reach the spirit, but every time I got close, something would catch my foot.”

Gross—but, not the grossest situation Dean has ever been in himself. “You want a shower? I gotta talk to you about something anyway.”

Castiel agrees with little reluctance, and Dean follows him out of the room, shutting his bedroom door behind him. Once inside the bathroom, Castiel sheds his clothing, starting with his shoes and socks; Dean, meanwhile, hangs his robe and briefs on the coatrack by the door and ducks into one of the stalls, drawing the curtain behind him. Here, he can at least hide while he blurts out the terrible predicament his dick is having.

The one thing the bunker has going for it is the water pressure; that, and the industrial sized water heater that’s hidden somewhere within the bunker’s walls. Warm water drowns out the noises of Castiel undressing, but still, Dean hears him walk, the curtain pulling back, hands on his— _wait_.

“Dude,” Dean barks, involuntarily jerking away and backing himself into the shower wall. Castiel watches with narrowed eyes and shuts the curtain, leaving them fully alone together. Alone— _alone_. “There’s like, six other stalls in here.”

“You said you needed to talk,” Castiel says, nonchalant as ever, and reaches for the shampoo from the shower stool. “And I haven’t seen you in a week.”

“Kinda blunt, don’t you think?” Dean says, mostly to himself. Peeling himself from the wall, he takes the bottle from Castiel’s hand and squirts a good portion into his palm. If they’re going to shower together, they might as well help. Or, that’s what Dean tells himself, anyway. “Lemme get your hair, come on.”

“You don’t have to,” Castiel says, but doesn’t fight when Dean begins to massage his scalp, working the mud and debris from his hair.

With the remaining suds, Dean soaps down his neck and shoulders until the water runs clear. Castiel rinses and afterward scrubs his face, all while Dean just stands there, transfixed, marveling at the naked expanse of Castiel’s body. Freckles dot his tanned shoulders and biceps; back muscles ripple with every move, in a way that should make Dean surge with want, should make him want to pin Castiel to the wall and fuck his thighs, just to feel how thick they are.

Instead, he looks down at his disinterested dick, and lets out a noise.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Castiel asks, lathering cedar-scented body wash between his hands. Dean’s mouth waters, not because the scent is one of his favorites, but because Castiel is marking himself with it, familiarizing himself with Dean’s scent.

And it does _nothing_ for him.

“I’m having a… problem,” Dean admits, face flushing when Castiel faces him, allowing the water to rinse his back. Soap clings stubbornly to his pecs, and Dean wants to swallow his tongue whole. “A personal problem.”

“I’m always here to help,” Castiel says, blasé, leaning over to rub down his calves. For once, Dean thanks his dick for not showing interest. “What is it?”

“I can’t get hard,” Dean blurts, almost one word. Shamefaced, he can’t even watch as Castiel stands, slow, almost scrutinizing. “Like…”

“You can’t get hard,” Castiel repeats. “Sexually.”

Sam was wrong—this is infinitely harder to talk about, especially with Castiel standing less than a foot away from him, naked and soapy and looking every bit the wet dream Dean always fantasized about. “I don’t—I don’t think it’s a curse,” Dean says, sucking in a breath. “I’ve tried—You know what, I’m just gonna—”

“Dean.” This time, Castiel takes him by the wrist, dragging him back into the shower. Warm skin bleeds into his own, and Dean mourns for his libido. “This is obviously distressing you. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“ _God_ ,” Dean whines, long and low, before pulling his hand away. “I don’t feel anything, okay? Like, I feel like I’m playing with a hot dog down there. Like, I’m standing here and I look at you”—he should really stop, he knows, but his mouth has always had tendency to move faster than his brain—“and I should be hard as a jackhammer right now, but look at it, it’s just…” Looking down, Dean gestures to himself. “That.”

Castiel considers him for a moment, offering a curious glance to Dean’s cock before he drops to his knees. “Cas,” Dean says, rushed, torn between fleeing the bathroom and waiting to see just what happens. What happens, being, Castiel pressing a chaste kiss to the head of his cock before swallowing it down to the root, nose nestled in coarse hair. Startled, Dean sucks in a breath, both hands flying to Castiel’s hair, just holding, nearly petting him while he moves.

He has to be asleep—that’s the only explanation of how Castiel is blowing him right now, or trying to. Completely unprompted, but with lips made of sin and next to no gag reflex in sight. Even then, Dean only feels the soft velvet of Castiel’s mouth surrounding him, his tongue insistent when he draws back to lap at the head. He isn’t even leaking, cock just as sad as it was when he woke up.

“Nothing?” Castiel asks. Dean shakes his head, eventually releasing his hold on Castiel’s hair. A hand comes up to cradle his balls, infinitely more awkward than Castiel showing off his skills blowing cock, and fingers press to his perineum, rubbing with intent. “This is strange.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Dean huffs, palming his eyes. “How d’you think it feels for me?”

“Are you sure you didn’t touch anything unusual?” Languidly, Castiel stands and reaches for the shampoo again, this time lathering up Dean’s hair.

Despite the whiplash, his libido roars on in spite of his cock’s apparent lack of interest in ever hardening again. “Nothing more than usual,” Dean mutters, eyes rolling back when Castiel massages his scalp. This, though—this is good. “Started wearing gloves just to get Sam off my back. Didn’t run into any witches, no demons, nothing that could’ve cursed me.” Briefly, he pauses to watch Castiel, his fingers now tracing sudsy circles behind his ears. His chest warms from the intimacy of it, of watching Castiel’s expression as he does so. “You think this is in my head?”

“I wouldn’t immediately doubt it,” Castiel says. Stepping out of the way, he allows Dean to wash the shampoo free, foam flowing down the drain. “You’ve lived a hard life, any amount of trauma that you’ve experienced could be the cause of your… dysfunction.”

“Just don’t make sense, though.” One-handed, Dean shuts off the water and pulls the curtain back. He should’ve brought a towel with him before he got in; at least then, he could’ve hid himself from Castiel’s gaze. “I still feel it. Like, I’m horny as fuck right now, but I got nothing to show for it.”

“Strange,” Castiel repeats. He looks down at Dean’s cock again, then back to his face, where Dean’s blush stubbornly refuses to subside. If only Castiel would stop looking at him—if only Castiel would stop touching him, too. “Have you tried—”

“I ate an entire tray of oysters,” Dean says, growing more and more despondent by the minute. “I did all the aphrodisiac shit, I tried pills, I even… What if I’m stuck like this?” Dean takes a towel off the wall rack, rubbing his hair dry. Here, he can’t see Castiel; and here, he can admit his fears. “I know it’s not a big deal. I can go without sex as much as the next person, but I’d like to take care of myself every once in a while, y’know?”

“There is one thing we could try,” Castiel suggests. Dean peeks out from underneath the towel, brow furrowed. “It’s entirely unorthodox—”

“At this point, I don’t care.” Dean finishes wiping himself down and ties the towel around his waist. Just barely, Castiel’s lips curl, and Dean pointedly ignores his mirth. “Long as you’re not planning on shoving something up there that don’t belong, then let’s go.”

-+-

Embarrassed doesn’t even cover it—Dean is downright mortified, eyes pinched shut while Castiel fingers him open, two fingers nudging at his prostate while Dean strokes himself, massaging his balls with his other hand. All of it just feels so invasive, not in the least bit sexy when it should be. Occasionally, Castiel laves at a nipple, just to see if he reacts, and Dean just bites his lip, face turned away.

“You could kiss me,” Dean says at one point, before his brain can catch up and properly assess what he just asked.

Regardless, Castiel doesn’t question it and leans up, slick fingers pulled free and caressing the back of Dean’s head; his kiss tastes like peppermint candy, probably pocketed at the last gas station he stopped at. Dean accepts him hungrily, praying the pressure from Castiel’s thigh between his legs will do something for him, anything at all. All he gets in return is chafing, even when Castiel straddles him and they begin to rut together, Castiel’s hard cock against Dean’s…

“Fuck, stop.” Drawing back, Dean places a hand to Castiel’s chest. Through his fingertips, he feels Castiel’s heart stutter, pounding hard against his breastbone. “Cas,” he begins, swallowing, “what are we doing?”

“I’m trying to arouse you,” Castiel says, sneaking in another kiss. This time, Dean sighs and allows him to delve deeper, tongue sliding wet against his own. He stops abruptly, just as Dean begins to lose himself in the kiss, eyes fluttering. “You smell… strange.”

“What?” Blinking, Dean lets his head fall back into the pillows. “I just showered—”

“Not that.” Castiel pulls away enough to smell Dean, concentrating specifically behind his ears, down to his collar. “Roses. Ancient roses, withered in the blood of a saint. Have you been working a spell?”

“What—No, not that I know of?” Dean leans up on his elbows as Castiel rolls off the bed, in search of whatever he’s caught the scent of. His cock bobs with every step, and Dean’s mouth waters; futilely, his own remains silent. “Dude, what are you even—”

Castiel searches the desk, hunting through each and every cabinet. “You’ve burnt something in here recently,” he says, moving for the nightstand.

Frantic, Dean reaches out to stop him, but Castiel opens the drawer anyway, the vibrator inside rolling forward with a thump. “I can—I can explain,” he stammers, but Castiel just shakes his head with a smirk. “God, you’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?”

“I’m not your brother.” Castiel rolls his eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of keeping your secrets. Now, did you happen to light a candle recently?”

“Dude, you gotta be more specific. There’s an entire box of candles in storage”

“Did you pick out anything floral?”

Floral. _Wait_. “There’s something in the closet, but I used it last week, how—”

In haste, Castiel rushes to the closet and pulls out a glass jar, half-filled with wax; even unlit, the scent is cloyingly thick, somehow even sharper than it was the last time Dean saw it. “This is the cause of your predicament,” Castiel says, venturing closer. Sitting, Castiel crosses his legs and pulls the lid off to smell it. “Your curiosity has gotten the better of you, this time.”

“Doesn’t it always?” Dean laughs. “So what is it, then? ‘Cause all the card catalog said was rose candle.”

“It would appear that way, to those who don’t know its intended purpose,” Castiel explains, recapping the lid. “If lit during the act of copulation, it’s meant to… hinder your release.”

That—that might be the weirdest thing Dean has ever heard. Or, somewhere damn close. “Wait, you mean I got cursed with limp dick because someone hexed a candle?”

“Something along those lines.” Setting the candle atop the nightstand, Castiel wipes his hands off on the bedspread. “Your room needs to be cleansed, and you need another shower, specifically with holy water.”

Dean blinks, eyeing the candle. They’ll have to destroy it at some point, preferably in the incinerator or a burn pile—or buried in a ten foot deep hole. Anything to get rid of it, for good. “But where are you gonna get that much holy water?”

-+-

Somewhere in Lebanon, or in the state of Kansas, probably, someone is getting a massive water bill for a building that doesn't technically exist. So far today, Dean has taken three showers, only one of which was on his own. His third of the day—night, rather—involves Castiel on his knees once again, mouthing at Dean’s hips while freezing water beats down on Dean’s back, zipping across his nerves. There has to be some rule about abusing grace for the sake of bathing; if there is, though, Dean can’t bring himself to care.

Because for the first time in a day, he _feels_ something, deep in his groin. “Gotta talk about this,” he stutters, just as Castiel takes his cock into his mouth. Warmth surrounds him, the sensation more than just Castiel’s lips, tongue working his slit when he pulls back; now, his cock begins to twitch, much to Castiel’s mirth. “Think this is crossing some sorta line—”

“Only if you didn’t want it.” Pulling back, Castiel slaps the head of Dean’s half-hard cock against his tongue.

Dean groans and fists Castiel’s hair, willing off the urge to come. Twenty-four hours deprived of orgasm, and he feels like a teenager again. That Castiel is sucking his cock, too, only fans the flames further. A long-held fantasy come to life, and he didn’t even have to make the first move. “Want it,” he pants, tugging Castiel closer. “Always wanted it, Cas—”

Even colder than the water, a hand skates down Dean’s spine, closing in on the small of his back. His hair stands on end from the contact, body arching where the hand caresses, urging him to spread; only, Castiel’s hands aren’t behind him. Looking down, Dean finds Castiel clasping his hips, eagerly swallowing his cock with a devious look in his eye. “ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses. Invisible fingers dart into his cleft, forming into one long, sinuous mass as they slide into his hole, still stretched from Castiel’s nimble preparations earlier. Another grips an ankle and lifts his leg, enough to open up even further, terrifyingly close to the kind of vulnerability Dean rarely ever allows himself.

Still, Castiel holds onto him despite his insecurities, drawing back long enough to check in while laving kisses to his hips. “How is it?” he asks, and Dean bites his lower lip when one of the tendrils— _fuck, this shouldn't be so hot—_ brushes against his prostate. His cock spurts precome onto Castiel’s chin, gloriously hard once again.

“Longest day of my life,” Dean laughs, petting through Castiel’s hair. “Since when are you this kinky?”

“Technically, I’m ridding your body of the curse,” Castiel says, his enjoyment palpable. “Whether or not you enjoy the method is up to you.”

Dean throws his head back with a grin, breaking into a moan. “Oh, I’m enjoying it. Kinda wish we could take this, y’know, elsewhere, though.”

“We can’t go there yet,” Castiel reminds him. Before Dean can reply, a third surge of grace touches his lips, requesting the entrance Dean so graciously provides. A near-electrical current surges across his tongue, just as the grace in his ass begins to pulse and thrust, targeting his prostate specifically; eyes rolling back, Dean gives himself over to it and allows Castiel inside, fully, wrists and ankles bound by forces he can’t even see. “I have to destroy the candle and burn sage in its place. Until then, we can stay in my bed.”

“Sounds good,” Dean muffles around the pressure on his tongue—or, attempts to.

Some part of him knows he should be gagging now, or panicking. Castiel’s grace slides deeper into his mouth by the second, teasing the back of his throat, but all Dean does is relax, eyes fluttering shut. Meanwhile, Castiel mouths at his cock, sucking wet marks along the shaft and tonguing his slit, swallowing every trace of precome. “You’re so close,” he says, just before he fondles Dean’s sac, rolling his balls in his palm. If anything, Dean only whines louder, cock twitching against Castiel’s lips. “You’ve waited so long.”

“Please,” Dean begs around his grace, close to tears. All Castiel would have to do is touch him, fuck his grace in just an inch farther, and Dean could finally— _finally_ —come. All Castiel does, though, is stare up at him with a wild look in his eyes, his own cock straining, unattended. _Please_ , he thinks, hoping Castiel can hear his thoughts, just this once. _Please, I can’t_ …

“You can let go,” Castiel hums, taking in Dean’s cock once again—and Dean does, breath robbed from his lungs while Castiel massages him through his orgasm. For what feels like ages, Dean comes, streaking Castiel’s mouth and face with it, dripping off his chin and onto the tile floor.

Gradually, Castiel’s grace pulls free, releasing Dean’s limbs and leaving him gaping, ass clenching around the absence. In full control of his throat again, Dean swallows and sinks to his knees, meeting Castiel where he kneels. Come still marks his lips, and Dean kisses if off him, uncaring of the taste or the fact that he still isn’t entirely sure what they are to each other. All he knows is the feel of Castiel’s lips against his and the hands that surround him, cradling his hips and skirting around to dip into his cleft. A finger sinks inside, and Dean lets out a groan, mouth going slack while Castiel kisses him.

“How does that feel?” Castiel asks, amused. All Dean can manage is a nod. “I think you’re clean now.”

“You never answered my question,” Dean breathes, despite the pressure to his prostate. Weakly, his cock twitches, ignored.

Castiel smirks, stealing another kiss. “You never asked one.”

“Killing me here,” Dean laughs. He lets his head drop onto Castiel’s shoulder, acutely aware of the chilled water beating down on his back and the strain in his knees. What he needs is a nap, and Castiel’s cock in him, whichever comes first. “What are we, Cas? Friends don’t just hand out blowjobs—”

“I’ve never thought we were friends,” Castiel begins, which— _ouch_. “We’re more intimate than that. Closer, like…”

“Don’t say lovers,” Dean laughs, nosing Castiel’s throat. True as it may be, the word terrifies him, almost as much as being in love. And with an angel, no less—how is he supposed to explain this? “Think we… kinda are, though.”

“Would you like to be?” Fingers pulled free, Castiel rakes through Dean’s hair, his nerves still hypersensitive in the afterglow. “We can talk about it later, if you prefer.”

“I’d like that,” Dean agrees. A shiver runs down his spine, both from the water and Castiel’s touch, soft, almost feather-like. A thought occurs to him, just before Castiel shuts off the water with nothing but his grace. “Do you have tentacles?”

All Castiel does is chuckle and drag him into another kiss. “I have whatever you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from but I needed to write something smutty to get it out of my system, so here you go! :D I really need to write some of the longer things I'm working on but... it's hard. 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
